My Aunt Judy is still in ICU in a Kansas hospital, having indeed suffered a stroke followed by a heart attack. I’ve been thinking a lot about family and friends and feel truly blessed in both areas. I’m grateful that three weeks from today, our eldest flies home from Germany.
The sun is shining, the snow is slowly melting, the bitterly cold temps are last week’s news.
On Wednesday, I finally went to get a flu shot. The friendly receptionist said to me: “Your birthdate is 12/26/, correct?”
I waited for her to say the ubiquitous /59 that always follows. But she didn't, and I commented on it.
She said she was trying to be discreet about my age, which made me laugh. I told her that was fine, I’d come to terms with it.
I promised no more fifty talk, but….
Aunt Judy and my mother’s father, my amazing Grandpa Rock, had his first heart attack at 50. A trim man, he was also a heavy smoker. He stopped and lived ten more years, until his fatal heart attack at 60.
Grandpa Rock would be 100 on February 10th.
This week, I’m cherishing 50 as the beginning of mere middle age.